Salmagundi (Huddesford, 1791)/William of Wickham
WILLIAM OF WICKHAM,
A SONG,
FOR THE WICCAMICAL ANNIVERSARY, HELD AT THE CROWN AND ANCHOR TAVERN.
I sing not your heroes of ancient romance:Capadocian George, or Saint Denis of France;No chronicler I amOf Troy and King Priam,And those crafty old Greeks who to fritters did fry 'em:But your voices, Brave Boys, one and all I bespeak 'em,In due celebration of William of Wickham.
CHORUS.Let Wickham's Brave Boys, at the Crown and the Anchor,The flask never quit 'till clean out they have drank her;And united maintain, whether sober or mellow,That old Billy Wickham was a Very Fine Fellow.
The swain who in amorous servitude gloriesSwears that Love builds his nest in the eyebrow of Chloris,While shafts from the quiverOf that Urchin Deceiver,Like the quills of a porcupine, stick in his liver:But at Wickham's Brave Boys should he brandish his dart,We'll drown the Blind Rogue in a Winchester Quart.CHORUS.For Wickham's Brave Boys, &c.
Let fomenters of fierce Opposition exclaimThat our rulers are blind and our politics lame;While their sole aim and wish is,With loaves and with fishesFrom the Treasury Board to replenish their dishes:How such Orators fare, my Boys, who cares a button,While We have good Claret and Winchester Mutton!CHORUS.For Wickham's Brave Boys, &c.
Let the Soldier, who prates about storming the trenchesOf fortified towns, and of fair-visag'd wenches,My numbers give heed to,And, drinking as we do,Shut up in its scabbard his martial Toledo:For we too shed blood, yet all danger escape,Since the blood that we shed is the blood of the Grape.CHORUS.Let Wickham's Brave Boys, &c.
Let Lawyers, accustom'd to quarrel and brawl,Play the devil as usual in Westminster Hall;Reputations bespatter,Yet thrive and grow fatter,While they dash Wrong and Right up as cookmaids do Batter:Here good fellowship reigns and, what's stranger by far,No mischief ensues from a Call to the Bar.CHORUS.Let Wickham's Brave Boys, &c.
The Empiric profound, who in heathenish LatinSuch potions prescribes as might poison old Satan,With blister and bolusAnd draught would cajole us,'Till snug under ground he has clapt in a hole us:But the wise Sons of Wickham his regimen slight,They swallow no draughts but of Red Wine and White.CHORUS.Let Wickham's Brave Boys, &c.
Ye Poetical Tribe, on Parnassus who forage,Who prate of Jove's Nectar and Helicon-porridge,Yet, for beef-steaks and brandy,Set each Jack-a-dandyOn a level with Frederick, or Prince Ferdinandy:What's the sword of King Arthur or Admiral HosierTo William of Wickham and his Jolly Old Crosier!CHORUS.Let Wickham's Brave Boys at the Crown and the Anchor, &c.